Saekano: How to Adapt an Anime for America (HA3)
by eowobble
Summary: A humble experiment to see if it's possible to adapt "Saenai Heroine no Sodatekata" ("Saekano: How to Raise a Boring Girlfriend") for an American audience. Reddit also overwhelmingly dumped on my idea so that just motivated me even more.


**_Introduction_**

Hi Everyone! This is the first work of fan fiction I've ever attempted. Please be kind. : )

The basic idea for this fan fiction started with a Reddit question I'd posted to /r/anime last week. I'd just finished watching both seasons of _Saekano_ on Amazon Prime and had been so moved that I immediately felt the compulsion to try adapting it for Americanization. When I started thinking through the project though, my initial enthusiasm was quickly dampened by doubts whether such an "Americanization effort" was even possible. And the responses I'd received on my Reddit post were overwhelmingly negative. At its lowest, I believe the question had been downvoted all the way down to 23%.

Nevertheless, in true American and House of Hufflepuff fashion, I remained undeterred by the torrent of doubt from others. I am admittedly not thoroughly versed in the anime/manga world. But I feel this is worth at least a try. Even if it is doomed to failure, I was so touched by the characters and story of _Saekano_ that I feel it's worth trying to share with the wider world.

What follows is an experiment: It's an attempt to adapt _Saekano_ into a project that could possibly succeed in America. Everyone likely harbors a different opinion of what that means so I'll just leave it to readers to see for themselves. I will say though, that for me, that meant writing something that was rated **"'E' for Everyone."** Any feedback is welcome! I've started with ~1,000 words. Depending on what folks think, I'll then consider whether or not to continue.

Thank you in advance for your time and attention! ありがとうございました!

**_Edit:_** It just occurred to me that though my fan fiction is "E for Everyone," there are links within the story that point to material which feature profanity. Just FYI.

* * *

**Chapter 01. Inspiration Upon a Hill - A Memory of Autumn**

**_Summary:_** Unexpected inspiration strikes from atop a hill one autumn afternoon and Tomas Alton receives a new assignment at the small publishing agency that he works at. It is the opportunity of a lifetime and the very project that Tom has dreamed about ever since childhood. But to even get the project off the ground, Tom will need to convince two skeptical colleagues who are reluctant to sign on because of their wholly unfounded, Anglocentric, and hypocritical prejudices.

They say life is a series of moments. Strung together by the inexorable march of time. Have enough moments, and you form an experience. And if you're lucky enough to make a meaningful one, you win a memory.

For as long as humans have walked the earth, there has existed never-ending fascination with the source of human creativity and imagination. From where does inspiration spring? Is it the Voice of God whispering and conspiring with the muses? Is that how a single man revitalized not one but _two_ of the utmost important Science Fiction film franchises in human history? And was it _really_ easier to train oil drillers to be astronauts rather than vice versa? Answers to these questions dangle over the chasm of epistemological impossibility but on this particular Sunday afternoon as Thomas Stein walked alone in Central Park, deeply lost in profound thought, he stumbled upon a moment that could've been only summoned by divine command.

Late autumn had descended on New York like _Episode 7_, late but still better than never, and had still arrived to a hero's welcome, cheered by all involved. And in that single moment, as a slight October breeze stirred and the last of a few stubborn leaves fell, as the orange sun set behind the city skyline, framed by maple trees and foliage on either side, Tom looked up and saw a single young woman standing alone atop the hill.

She stood svelte and lithe in a white sundress, her chestnut brown hair mussed by the sudden gust. She was reaching for something elusive, just beyond her grasp- and before Tom knew it, a white beret had rolled to his feet.

On this Sunday afternoon, in the waning days of fall, by virtue of no particular action of his own, and for no reason remotely comprehensible, Tomas Stein won a memory.

* * *

As the eight o'clock bell rung that morning at the office, the underpaid and overworked employees of Yoshito, Swann, and Sonoko shuffled from the company breakroom to their small cubicles opposite of the long hall. Among their number of groggy employees migrating to their designated indentured cubicles of servitude was one Tomas Alton. If one wished to be purely anthropological about it, after graduating from university, Tom had noticed that women largely self-sorted into two categories with regards to professional life: The first group were those who sharply dressed in pantsuits and donned crisp, white blouses, with tidy and well-maintained haircuts, earrings, and eyeshadow. While no one appeared rich (it was publishing, after all), it was clear these women cared about appearances and believed that they existed in some perpetual competition whereby value was somehow conferred by some outdated and arbitrary, 19th century notion of beauty.

And then there was the second category: Women who rolled in five minutes before the bell, disheveled, wearing smudged glasses, in green tracksuits.

Comparatively, Tom himself was dressed appropriately- thick, black-framed glasses, brown dress slacks (pleated), and a gingham long-sleeved polo (unwrinkled). But like a small, frightened animal cognizant that he was of an endangered species, Tom needed only to look around to remind himself that the publishing industry remained one of the last bastions of the matriarchal power structure in the modern world. Nevertheless, in the grand scheme, considering the country currently wallowed amidst the biggest economic downturn since the Dustbowl of the 1930s, Tom was grateful for a job at all.

"Hey! Diversity hire!"

Tom's head whipped around, reflexively.

"Yeah, you! Whatever-your-name. Get in here!"

Tom swallowed. It was the Great Matriarch, Ms. Machida Sonoko-San. One of the company partners who was temporarily on loan from Tokyo to set up this nascent subsidiary in New York. As the junior-most partner at the firm, Ms. Sonoko-San had been shipped over from the Empire of the Rising Sun to the land of cheeseburgers and guns with the sole mission of helping Yoshito-San's publishing firm gain a foothold in the American market.

Tom walked over and tentatively entered Ms. Sonoko-San's corner office, wearily aware that more than a few sets of eyes quizzically followed his summoning. Tom had never approached a ten-yard radius of the office before and quickly realized two things about Ms. Sonoko-San upon entering: 1) She was surprisingly and strikingly young, maybe only a few years over the right side of thirty, at most. (Only a few years older than himself.); and 2) While she was dressed as a Category 1-Female, her office was a complete disaster! Maybe human beings in all of their infinite complexity could not be so easily classified? Papers were strewn over every available surface and Pocky stick boxes littered the floor. The office itself was large with sweeping views of the Hudson River but it didn't really matter because clothing hung from hangers obscuring most of the floor-to-ceiling windows and… _were those undergarments behind the door?_

"Have a seat, sorry, what's your name again?"

Tomas's eyes snapped back to attention. _Good god, **focus, man**._ He tried to clear some space on the sofa by gingerly moving a pile of Japanese comic books to the floor. "Uh, Tomas Stein, Ms. Sonoko-San. A pleasure to meet you."

"Ah, Tomoya-Kun, very well."

They sat for a moment, opposite of each other as Ms. Sonoko-San took a long minute to look him over. Tom waited awkwardly not quite sure what was expected of him. Occasionally, Ms. Sonoko-San flipped through a thin file that sat on her cluttered desk. After another minute, she leaned back in what must have been a thousand-dollar Aeon Office flex-chair, crossed her legs at the knees, and smiled.

"Very well, Tomoya-Kun, you'll do. I think you'll do just fine. How would you like a new assignment?"


End file.
